


It's a Moment of Shock

by teloka



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Minor Lizzington, Prompt-Built
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-22
Updated: 2013-10-27
Packaged: 2017-12-30 05:00:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1014387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teloka/pseuds/teloka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During a routine meeting with a high-profile Blacklister, they learn two things. Firstly, that someone seems to know more about the bureaus amicability with Raymond Reddington than desirable, and secondly, that his criminal expertise is not the reason they've been summoned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Surprise

“Lizzie.” As usual, his tone was flat, somewhat deadpan, and deathly serious; a voice that gave commands more often than statements. Even though he’d said nothing more than her name, it was still an order, and although she was reluctant to obey anything he demanded, Elizabeth saw the sense, and stepped a little closer.

Without ever taking his gaze off the five men in front of them, even to blink, Reddington reached out towards her, crossing his arm bodily in front of her chest like a simple barricade. It was hardly a protection in the face of the guns pointed at them, but irrationally, Liz felt a flicker of safety from his action.

True to his promises, he would always look out for her best interests.

As she edged closer too slowly for his taste, Red dropped his hand across her diagonally, until his fingers brushed her hip. Any reaction she might have normally had faded into the anxiety and weight of the situation, but her jaw was frozen and in the silence she’d have normally filled with a complaint, his message was perfect clear, and she stepped behind him completely.

“We have no interest in shooting you, Raymond,” drawled the leader of the group in front of them, the very man they’d come to try and take out. Number fifty-seven on the Blacklist, Jonathan Dunnan, otherwise known to Reddington and other members of criminal society as the Patriot, had taken them all by surprise.

He’d surprised the FBI by being a known and trusted member of the executive office, working an incredibly well concealed inside job and helping many minor and major wrong-doers simply disappear off the grid without leaving the country. He was the go-to guy for seamless reintegration into American high society. Needless to say the news had been more than a little unsettling.

He’d surprised Reddington by planning an ambush.

“All we want is the girl. She’s of no use to you at all, Red. Give her to us and we’ll be on our way.”

“I don’t think so.” Reddington said it with a laugh, but he was unarmed and for once, entirely unprepared. The mirth sounded genuine, but was forced; Red was a brilliant actor. He couldn’t look at her, but he was comforted slightly by the feeling of Elizabeth close to his shoulders, well concealed behind him; if anyone wanted to hurt her, they’d have to go through him to do it.

“What use is she to you?”  
“I could ask you the same question, Jonathan.” Reddington sneered, shaking his head in disapproval. “She’s just a rookie profiler, she’s got two months federal experience at best. There’s nothing special about her at all,” he lied, and Elizabeth recalled their very first conversation.

“I’d be inclined to agree Raymond; you’d make a much more sensible and exciting goal.” Liz bristled as their criminal target spoke, and Red felt it in the air between her and his back, but they remained silent and in their places. “But, they didn’t ask for you. In fact I was specifically told to let you go, to carry on your merry way with whatever it is you’re doing. All I know is that an abhorrent amount of money is available to me if I can deliver her alive.”

“Who’s paying you?”

Dunnan barked out a harsh and unpleasant laugh, looking at his watch. “A client.”

“Which client?”  
“Now, now, Raymond. You know exposing the personal details of the people who trust me would be so very bad for business.”  
“And as you know, it would be equally bad for mine if one of my people is shanghaied.”  
“Luckily for you, she’s not really one of your people, is she? No one else would even know you’d lost her, aside maybe the federal agents who rented her out to you in exchange for me.”

Red’s expression fell, losing any trace of mock cheer. Instead he became an impassive, blank slate with dark eyes and a silent frown. This Blacklister knew far more than he should have done, and if he was to be believed, he wasn’t the only one. And that was a serious problem.

A pressure on his back nearly made the mask drop completely off his face in surprise, but he gritted his teeth and reached behind him again with his hand; Elizabeth had placed her fingers gently against the pleat in his suit coat. He could feel her barely containing a tremble through the touch, and couldn’t blame her. This situation had escalated far out of their control.

“Are you going to step out of the way, Red? I’d rather we remain friends.”  
“I’m afraid I can’t really do that. How would it look to the FBI if I simply let their agent be abducted? Keeping up a ruse about being on the inside is of pivotal importance, as you know.”

Across the room, #57 shrugged lazily, as if he’d been asked to decide between Cheddar or Swiss. “Very well then.” He waved his gun in the air, a gesture to the four backup men he’d brought with him; one couldn’t be too careful when taking on Raymond Reddington. “Get the girl, we need her alive.”

“Are you sure you want to do this, Johnathan?”  
Without missing a beat, Dunnan added to the goons that were now approaching Red and Elizabeth, “And for the sake of hospitality, bloody him up a bit so that he can maintain face with the feds. He’s much more useful to the community when he’s not in prison.”

“Lizzie,” Reddington spoke again, quietly for her ears only, taking a step backwards against her and putting her in the uncomfortable position of being firmly wedged between his back and the wall behind them.

“I’m going to bloody kill you,” she hissed, alarm and fury pitching her voice in his ear, and she felt his chuckle rather than heard it as he continued quickly.  
“You mightn’t have to. Listen, when I move, duck. I’ll go left, you go right, throw yourself and roll, under that table, and then you’ll be at the base of the stairs. Go up, and get out.”

There wasn’t time for her to argue, nor register that he hadn’t included himself in this escape plan, because in the next second the guards were upon them, and Reddington had launched forwards after his feign of submission.

At the near immediate sound of gunfire, Liz ducked, ran, tumbled, and found herself rolling under the table as directed.  Her ears rang from a deafening _crack_ , and the wood splintered behind her as she flung herself up the steps two or three at a time, fighting back tears of panic, because right now she needed clear vision to make it up, and out- just as Red had said- and escape.


	2. The Silence

She nearly made it, too, sprinting up the final few steps into the empty café that served as the front for this particular meet. It was there, with escape in sight, that something very heavy slammed into her with such force that she flew forward and crashed to the ground, wailing with anguish.

Someone behind her swore, and while she lay stunned, she felt a heavy weight on her spine and knew her attacker had kneeled over her. Rolling fast, she flung her own legs up, and successfully smashed her knee into the jaw of one of the men working for the Patriot.

A well placed kick sent her unknown assailant stumbling a few feet away from her, and she struggled with an overwhelming weight that felt like it had suddenly settled across her chest. The man above her regained his balance, frowning disapprovingly, yelling something at her- she saw him yell- but strangely heard nothing at all.

Through the panic, and her annoying inability to shift, she saw the man above her drag a dark piece of cloth out of the cuff of his sleeve, and recognized it with a flicker of terror; they were going to try to get that black fabric over her head again, mask her, gag her, take her somewhere out of the way. Her nose filled so surely with the scent of chemicals, strong and overpowering and enough to make her eyes water in memory of the burning, acid laden air.

Above her as she watched, the man took several steps in approach, both hands gripping the black fabric that she knew would be big enough to cover her face and take her sight, muffle her cries, stifle her hearing- although the latter already seemed to be playing up. She couldn’t hear anything above an atmospheric roar in her ears.

Without warning, and in the heady, throbbing silence, her attacker jerked violently in place. His entire body made an unusual convulsive movement where he stood above her and his face contorted in a mixed expression of shock and pain. She prepared to be hit, or have the sack roughly shoved over her head, and readied herself to kick- but none of those things happened.

Instead, the man jerked violently again, loosing his grip on the cloth bag and dropping it, his gaze crystallizing on a space somewhere in front of him. She noticed it just before he fell, the deep red seeping through the black over shirt, and realized with a start that her assailant had been shot, and somehow she’d never heard a thing.

He fell beside her, and she tried to roll, desperation and the imaginary sting of bleach brimming in the corners of her eyes. Then she noticed him, gun lowering as he walked straight towards her; Red had been the shooter. Casually he put one foot on the shoulder of the guard who lay dead or dying beside her, and pushed him aside with one perfectly shined boot.

Immediately he was kneeling in the space he’d cleared beside her, lowering the stolen pistol to the floor between them. She frowned up at him, wallowing in fear and distaste and confusion at the faint ebb of relief that stirred in her chest- alongside the pain, which curled into being all of a sudden next to the unwarranted relief, and made her gasp.

Just like that her ears finally caught up with her and the world, and she heard the words with a moments delay after she saw them leave his lips; like a bad recording with audio lag.

“Oh, Lizzie.”

The sounds of the past two minutes or so collided with her all at once, and there was a rush of noise; shattering wood, wind, gunshots, a garbled cry and a whimpering sob that—was that _her?_ —the fizz of acid, bullets off an inadequately armored truck, a crackle of fire in the curtains, the ocean pouring into her ears-

“Lizzie. Look at me.”

Through the confusing assault of sounds, his stern voice rang clear in the air above her and she refocused, looking to him, never realizing she’d lost focus in the first place. His hands were around her, somewhere behind her shoulders and lifting her ever so slightly off the ground; which would explain the weightless feeling. But then his hands were visible again, one in her peripheral vision where he looked at the overly vivid red smear on his palm, and if he wasn’t still lifting her, why did she feel-

“ _Lizzie._ ” A mask of calm, he planted his hand beside her head, and gripped her shoulder hard with the other, digging his fingers in slightly and bringing her eyes back to the hard set lines of his jaw. “Lizzie, look at me. Listen to me. You’ve been shot.”

Her eyebrows lifted slowly, as if she thought he was joking and she was trying to weedle the truth out of him. His frown weakened, and he pushed his thumb at the tender seam of her arm and torso until she yelped.

“Can you hear me?” Gritting her teeth, half her face glaring at him and the other half starting to react properly to the pain in her back and consider perhaps he wasn’t joking after all, she nodded. “Good,” he continued, “Now, this is important, Lizzie. Pay attention. You’re going to go into shock again, it will be worse this time.”

Already she was starting to gasp, and he could see her pupils dilating, huge and dark in her blue eyes. He could feel her pulse trembling faintly through her skin, and knew it would be stuttering and frantic; but a pulse, at least. The wound was unlikely to be fatal- an accidental, glancing hit, thank God- and the FBI were already on their way with an ambulance or several, so providing he could keep her conscious and moderate her panic, it would be alright.

He brushed a hand across her face, moving her fringe from her clammy forehead, and winced at the smudge of her own blood he transferred across her brow from the pad of his thumb. He’d already bundled the dark cloth against the wound behind her back and pressed her back against it to slow the blood-loss, but it still unsettled him more than he’d care to admit to have to see her bleeding at all.

“Thgh,” she groaned, a distressed gurgle stopping her from forming a proper sentence. At the wetness of the sound, Red lurched forwards and cupped her chin in his free hand, fingers pressing against the side of her lip and thumb pushing into her cheek. But her teeth were white- sparkling- and her tongue a soft pink, not dark ruby and stained with the bleeding that would have spelled internal injuries.

Sitting back, eased, he dropped his hand and pressed against her ribs; feeling her heartbeat through the cage of bones and lightly pushing her more assuredly against the wadding behind her- the tiles were starting to stain.

“The Patriot,” Elizabeth managed at last, a frightened gasp on the shortness of her breath, and he fixed the full intensity of his stare on her determined face.

“He’s gone,” as he answered, he began unbuttoning several of the buttons near the collar of her blouse to ease the tight, claustrophobic sensation he knew was coming for her. Reddington never looked away from her face, and at the flicker over her features, he added quietly, “He got away.”

Ridiculously it seemed to ease her. It always upset her whenever he hurt people, as if she expected better of a notorious criminal. Idly he wondered if she’d hold it against him for shooting the men who attacked them, or for killing the goon who had been about to abduct her and whisk her off to some unknown destination and mysterious client.

With the knowledge that they weren’t about to get jumped, Liz relaxed slightly, and shut her eyes- until Reddington shook her again.

“Don’t be indolent,” he chastised her, the words reaching her as if through a foot of water, and when she opened her leaden eyes and looked up at him, he looked different. It was too hard for her to realize that his perfectly tailored coat had come off, and that he was busily shoving the pale fabric under her right side to apply further pressure to her wound. He’d need to roster in a fitting for a new one next week.

In the haze of shock and the ebb of racing adrenaline, she saw his mouth moving without sound, and frowned up at him. His fingers touched her collarbone, and she saw his lips form her name- _Lizzie_ a familiar shape out of them now- but heard nothing over the echoing silence in her ears.

Red mouthed a few more unidentifiable phrases—which was a silly thing to do, she didn’t feel like lip-reading at all right now—before he frowned, and the world rattled as he shook her gently, then a little harder. A finger clicked soundlessly in front of her nose and she crossed her eyes to focus on it, and everything beyond it blurred to a bright, blown out nothingness.

Something stung her cheek, and a face- his face- _Reddington?_ \- was much too close to hers.

If there was anything she most certainly didn’t feel like stomaching right now, it was the fierce stare he used to look straight through her like she was made of paper and holes, and seeing it in that moment made her stomach roil. It would be a mark of some weird, great justice if she threw up in that moment; a perfect summary of her emotions the past few months of their working together.

But it didn’t happen, because his eyes left hers in a flick, fixing somewhere behind her with a rapidly steeling expression, and he drew back. It placed some distance between their noses, but not so much that she lost her focus of him. He mouthed, slowly and pronounced for her, and she caught it easily without needing to hear the words.

_They’re here, Lizzie._

His palm found her cheek, and his fingertip grazed her ear. With the shock of feeling a siren ripped through the silence, growing from a distorted, distant wail to full strength in seconds, as Elizabeth’s hearing came abruptly back online, and she jerked violently.

Red’s other palm held her shoulder to steady her, and he smiled, disconcertingly, before mouthing again, despite the fact that he must have known her hearing had returned.

_You’re going to be just fine._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on an anonymous prompt I received to my tumblr, requesting "Red finds that Liz has been shot and it's not looking good so he gets to be the hero and keep her alive !! :D" Yessss dramatic hurt/comfort prompts, one of my favourites.
> 
> Thank you so, so much for the kudos and comments! I'm really scared about these multi-chapter fic things, but your feedback means so much to me and I'm glad if you thought it was okay! <3 
> 
> I'll try to have the final planned chapter (also a prompt-fill) for this story up in the next few days.


	3. The Security

There were some moments in life where, more than others, Raymond Reddington really appreciated his ability to move unnoticed throughout the world. How he could manage it, dressed to the nines in a finely striped shirt and an attention grabbing gilded vest would almost have been a mystery; had he not been a criminal mastermind, and also, had he not been wearing a far plainer windbreaker over the top.

As it was, no one in the hospital bothered him, and he passed nurses and receptionists like a shadow; they wouldn’t even remember he’d been there. It was nearing the end of visiting hours, which was perfect, because it meant that Tom had already left. Red had made sure of that, watching from a parked car at the side of the road before even stepping cautious foot in the building.

He found the ward without too much difficulty; Luli had already provided him the number of the room he needed, and rough directions on how to get there. It simply wouldn’t do to ask at a counter. No unnecessary contacts; it was a good rule, kept good people alive.

Agent Keen had been given a private room, _thank you very much, federal insurance_ , which made it far easier for him to visit, slipping soundlessly past the thin door and closing it behind him. There was already a cheap hospital stool pulled up to her bedside- evidently where Tom had perched himself on the hard plastic- but Reddington was a man of standards, so he ignored it and made instead for the plusher armchair on the far side of the bed.

The machines beeped at him quietly as he passed, and he inspected the numbers with an air of knowledge, before finally sitting down and crossing his legs to wait. It wasn’t long before she turned her head against the pillow, twisting in his direction, and opened her dark rimmed eyes.

“Hello Lizzie.”

Elizabeth didn’t answer, turning her head away again to stare up at the white panel ceiling with a huge, empty sigh. The lights were fierce, and their glare caused wrinkles in the dark spaces underneath her eyes as she squinted.

“Tom just left,” she volunteered after a few moments, and Reddington linked his fingers together in his lap, brushing his thumbs together idly.

“I’m sure he was concerned. What did you tell him?”  
“The FBI gave me a cover story.”  
“Did he buy it?”

After scrutinizing the ceiling for a few more minutes, she dropped her ear to the pillow and stared at him once more. She looked exhausted, her expression lazy and fed-up, and her skin still a little too pale for them to release her. Perhaps on Wednesday, Red guessed; they’d be able to make sure she’d recovered from the blood transfusion and that the stitches below her shoulder were kept clean.

“You didn’t speak to him,” Reddington supplied under her persistent stare, and her gaze dropped to the floor in shame.  
“I woke up and he was there. I…” she blinked slowly, the action taking a lot longer than it should have done, “Just-- pretended to still be out. He sat there, and then he left.”

Thumbs pressing against each other, he watched her attention flicker and wane between various elements around the room, anything that meant avoiding his own gaze. Her dry throat worked when she swallowed, and noticing, he picked up a cup of half-melted ice cubes.

“You don’t know if you can trust him,” leaning closer to the bedside, Red scooped for one of the frozen blocks, before passing it out to her, holding it between two fingers in front of her grimacing mouth. She shook her head ever so slightly- but it was in response to his words, not his actions- and carefully took the proffered ice cube, realizing suddenly just how parched she had been.

They sat in silence for a few moments, the sound of her teeth clunking against the ice as she rolled it around her mouth the only noise in the room aside from the quietly constant machines.

“What happened to the Patriot?” Elizabeth asked at last, gaze fixed back on the grid of lights and roofing tiles above her. Reddington leaned back, sinking slightly into the stuffed vinyl of the armchair and linking his fingers again, in front of his chest this time. He fixed his own stare on the small window, as if he could see something more interesting than the closed venetians.

“I told you at the scene; he got away.”  
“Did he really?”  
“Yes. Do you doubt me?”  
“Yes.”  
“Hm. Well, it’s the unfortunate truth. I was a bit preoccupied with the guards and maintaining my own skin to stop his escape.”  
“What now?”  
“Hard to say,” Reddington unfolded his legs, stretched his toes against the polished floor, and then crossed them again in the opposite direction, now facing Elizabeth. “He knew far more than he ought, and had information about our alliance I didn’t suspect. Evidently this information is out there, now, and I’m not sure what that he, or his client, will keep it contained.”

Shaking his head, he cast a slow glance around the room with listless disinterest. Unspoken went the thought that if it became common knowledge that Red was working with the FBI, their task of crossing names off the Blacklist was going to become incomprehensibly more difficult, not to mention dangerous.

“There is also the issue of you,” his stare returned to her- that intense burn that made her head hurt- and so she simply closed her eyes. “I will ensure your security is increased, on my own means; I don’t think Harold would respond well to knowing what transpired in full below the café.”

If she’d been more coherent, she might have felt a flicker of irritation that somehow he knew, like he knew _so damn much_ , that she had not mentioned the Patriot or his anonymous client’s interest in her to her own boss. But she wasn’t, so Elizabeth just sunk her nose against the hospital pillow and exhaled slowly.

“I don’t remember being shot,” it was a mumble into the crisp cotton of the pillow, and truthfully she wouldn’t have been bothered if he missed her admission. But Reddington possessed rather honed listening skills, so he caught it anyway.

“That’s not unusual. You were shot in the back, by accident I wager.” They had specifically said they wanted her alive, after all. “You may have a scar.”

Elizabeth’s eyes fogged over slightly at his words, no doubt imagining the unsightly idea of puckered, rough skin wedged just under her shoulder blade, almost in the shape of a bullet wound. She closed her red rimmed eyes and leaned back; sinking into the pillows and bringing her free hand around to absent mindedly toy with the paper hospital bracelet around her wrist.

Something cool on her forehead dragged her heavy eyelids open again, staring up at Reddington where he stood instead of sat, right next to her now at her bedside. She hadn’t heard him move, and her bloodshot expression must have conveyed her confusion, because he dabbed gently at her forehead with the cloth only briefly before answering it.

“You’re coming and going, Lizzie. You’ve been through a trial, and you’ve no doubt been given a sedative or two.  You’ll be very tired for another eighteen to twenty-four hours.” Brushing his fingers against her forehead, he carefully moved her long fringe aside before slowly drawing the damp cotton down her temple. “Exhaustion and medication are nastily proficient partners.”

With a fierce frown, she squeezed her eyes shut and turned her head from him, in an effort to get away from his unwarranted and undesirable attentions, but he wouldn’t be shaken. Instead he moved the cloth underneath her raised chin, the cool fabric leaving a fresh chill where it tickled her neck. His cold fingers gripped carefully- but firm- against her jaw on the far side, and he turned her back, ignoring her hiss of distaste, leaning right over her in the bed to see where he dabbed the cloth against her bruised cheek on the other side.

“You bumped your head here when you fell.” As if that gave him permission. But she was too tired to argue, or fight, and perhaps she was drifting in and out of consciousness a little, because the next thing she knew his fingers were smoothing through the now damp strands of her hair, and her traitor mouth had started saying something she hadn’t run past her drowsy brain first.

“I don’t know if he meant it.”

Reddington leaned down as if he was having trouble hearing her, his intense eyes scrutinizing her sleepy face for clues. She kept her eyes shut, because it was easier, and if she didn’t focus on him and who he was, she could almost enjoy the touch of his gentle care.

“Who, Lizzie?”  
“Tom.”

Without giving a verbal answer, he brushed his hand gently through her hairline, before smoothing the strands back into their places. She felt his fingers track down from her face across her shoulders- even though he wasn’t touching her she could still feel them just millimeters above her skin- and followed the movement all the way down her bare arm to her own hand. His palm encased hers entirely, and he drew soft circles on the inside of her scarred wrist with the pad of his thumb while he waited for her to continue.

“Visiting. I don’t know if he really meant… He didn’t say anything, didn’t try to talk to me- just sat there.” She would have expected Tom- _her Tom_ \- to have been worried, to have reiterated that he loved her, to have spoken to her how she did to him while he was in hospital; to have done more than sit silently at the side of the bed and hold her hand limply. He clearly hadn’t known she wasn’t asleep.

“What are you thinking, Lizzie?”  
“I think… maybe… keeping up appearances.”

Beside her in the silence, Red nodded; it would have put an additional strain on their relationship if Tom had not been present when Lizzie had woken up after being shot, and aroused too many questions. Any caring husband would have been there, and he was certainly continuing to keep up that ruse to his best efforts. And she was still desperate to believe it, although the rational profiler in her was clearly starting to step forward and take over.

With a small jerk she startled back into wakefulness, and blinked up at him; it had suddenly gotten very dark, and she realized that the lights had been turned off. She also realized that although she could still feel the remnant of his touch, he was no longer drawing lazy circles in her palm, as both his hands were gently resting on her shoulders.

“You should rest now. You need it. You’re no use to anyone if you’re overtired.” Frowning up at him, she blinked slowly and gritted her teeth. There was no particularly sensible reason to argue, but she still felt uneasy and unsafe. As if he knew what she was thinking, like that stare of his really could see right through her and read her mind, Red added, “I haven’t had a chance to make other arrangements in regards to your security, so I’ll stay here myself tonight.”

Somehow comforted by that, as if the presence of a murderous, criminal mastermind could ever be a relief, Elizabeth nodded. Leaning her cheek unconsciously into the waiting cup of his palm, she drifted off into an uneasy slumber, reliving a nightmare of gunshots and dark fabric and the silence of shock that would have her waking up with a periodic start many nights for weeks to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the end! I hope that this was okay, like I said, multi-chapter things really aren't my forte, so I hope I didn't stuff this up somewhere. This third part was also a fill for a prompt by moonlightaoao on tumblr, "Liz ends up in the hospital after a pretty rough case, Red goes to visit her"!
> 
> If anyone was interested, I might come back and do a bit more with the idea of the Patriot and his client, the fact that Red's cooperation with the FBI has been leaked and that Liz is more important than she previously assumed. Or maybe I should just stick with subtler character development one shots? Haha. I guess, let me know what you think or would like to see?
> 
> I will continue filling in the other prompts I've got too! Thank you so much for your comments, kudos and support! They keep me writing and give me a huge dorky smile, thank you ;u;
> 
> Thank you thank you thank you for reading! Lots of love <3 <3

**Author's Note:**

> At request of attempting a multi-chapter fic, this will be a few short chapters tied together in a single plot-line. The first chapter is setting up, but the next two will be responses to prompts I received which I decided could work as a group.
> 
> I don't normally write multi-chapter fics because I find them intimidating, so I hope that this one will be okay.
> 
> My other Blacklist related one-shots and drabbles are available at my tumblr (thelittlebirdsnest.tumblr.com) and on fanfiction.net (http://www.fanfiction.net/~littlebirdteloka). I'm not sure if it's rude to cross post them here too, so I haven't. I'm still accepting prompts via pms or asks on my tumblrblog, too. :)
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
